


a time capsule, labeled "for your eyes only"

by deplore



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, mention of suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-25
Updated: 2014-02-25
Packaged: 2018-01-13 17:52:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1235635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deplore/pseuds/deplore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After many years, Nijimura meets Akashi again, and is forced to deeply contemplate what exactly the protocol is on sleeping with somebody who's a newspaper sensation when you are, in fact, a newspaper journalist.</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>“No, you don’t understand,” Nijimura starts to say, but then he thinks better of it. There’s really no way to explain ‘we were both part of the craziest middle school basketball to ever exist, that’s the kind of shit you remember forever’ without sounding psychologically traumatized. Instead, he downs the rest of his beer and sighs deeply, resisting the urge to laugh uncontrollably. “Right. We're totally normal middle school classmates. Absolutely.”</p>
  <p>(And that’s how Nijimura ends up drinking way too much for the second night in a row.)</p>
</blockquote>
            </blockquote>





	a time capsule, labeled "for your eyes only"

**Author's Note:**

> _Time capsules are sometimes created and buried during celebrations,  
>  a cornerstone laying for a building or at other events._

Nijimura’s reunion with Akashi goes something like this: he’s at some too-swanky wedding party on a Friday night and beginning to feel terribly out of place when he spots a vaguely familiar redhead standing by one of the far tables. “Nijimura-san,” Akashi says when he approaches, smiling after a brief moment of surprise. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here. Are you a friend of the bride?”

“Distant cousin,” Nijimura replies. “What about you?”

“The groom is the heir to one of the Akashi Conglomerate’s trading partners,” Akashi explains. “Would you like a drink?”

Nijimura would, so Akashi grabs a pair of flutes filled with white wine from a passing server, offering one to him. They talk for a while as they slowly gravitating towards the open bar, and Nijimura loses track of how exactly how much alcohol he imbibes — his memories go a little fuzzy after what he thinks is probably his fifth drink and Akashi’s sixth.

The next thing he remembers, he’s got his arm around Akashi’s waist and Akashi is leading them to a penthouse apartment. Clothes come off, and then there’s some heavy making out before Akashi blows him. For the first time in his life, Nijimura feels reduced to a beast being led around by his dick, and his dick is telling him _Akashi Seijuurou knows what’s up, Shuuzou, trust him with me unconditionally_. That’s about the last rational thought he manages before Akashi drags him to the bed and rides him like no tomorrow.

 

 

 

 

Except there is a tomorrow, and an incredibly awkward tomorrow at that — and it’s made all the more awkward by the fact that apparently Nijimura is the only one who thinks so. “I’m sorry, I got called into a meeting,” Akashi says as he pulls on a fresh dress shirt, as if he regularly finds old schoolmates in his bed and considers it no big deal.

Nijimura is still half-asleep and a little too dazed to do much more than pull himself up into a sitting position while thinking to himself how incredibly comfy Akashi’s sheets are. “Uh, okay,” he replies.

“You can leave at your own pace, the door is set to automatically lock when it closes. Feel free to take anything from the fridge if you’re hungry,” Akashi continues, putting on a tie as he speaks.

“Right,” Nijimura replies, still incapable of anything beyond one-word responses.

Akashi grabs the blazer he’d been wearing the night before and sighs, as if to say, ‘well, it’ll have to do’. “Then, I’m off. It was nice seeing you again, Nijimura-san,” Akashi tells him, as if they’d had coffee and chatted about work instead of doing the horizontal tango. He’s out of the door before Nijimura can gather enough wits to string together a proper farewell.

It takes a few more minutes before Nijimura realizes that despite the sheets, he does not feel entirely comfortable being abandoned in an apartment with a monthly rent somewhere in the range of his yearly rent. With a groan, he kicks off the blankets and massages his temples furiously, trying to forestall the inevitable regret until after he’s put his clothes on and fled the scene.

 

 

 

 

With that on his mind for the rest of the day, Nijimura calls up a college classmate and invites him out to dinner and drinks. “So, what’s the protocol on sleeping with a kouhai?” Nijimura asks him contemplatively over beer and tonkatsu.

Satou shrugs. “Depends. Is she hot?”

Nijimura thinks about it for a few moments. “Pretty attractive, I guess,” he says. He vaguely recalls Akashi had no lack of admirers back in their school days, despite being thirteen and in the throes of puberty. “I never really thought about it before.”

“Ooh, you were one of those _responsible_ upperclassmen, weren’t you? Didn’t look at your underclassmen that way, huh?” Satou jokes, elbowing him in the ribs. Nijimura shoves him away.

“Shut up, I seriously just never thought about it,” he grumbles, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Well, then, why do you ask? ‘Cause it’s not like it’s a big deal if it’s just a one-time thing, but if you’re asking, then you probably plan on seeing her again,” Satou says.

Nijimura shrugs. “Who knows. I guess I’m not opposed to it.”

“Okay, then,” Satou says, “when was the last time you saw her before you had sex with her? High school graduation?”

“Middle school,” Nijimura answers.

Satou laughs and pats him on the back. “Then what’s the big deal? You’re basically strangers — I mean, you haven’t been in middle school in like, what, ten-plus years? Coming on fifteen?”

“No, you don’t understand,” Nijimura starts to say, but then he thinks better of it. There’s really no way to explain ‘we were both part of the craziest middle school basketball to ever exist, that’s the kind of shit you remember forever’ without sounding psychologically traumatized. Instead, he downs the rest of his beer and sighs deeply. “Okay, you have a point,” he says instead.

“Look, it sounds to me like you’re feeling guilty over something, but there’s nothing to be guilty about,” Satou tells him, putting a hand up to signal for another round of beers. “Be glad you got laid and move on with life. If you guys were just normal middle school classmates, then there’s nothing to worry about, right?”

“Right,” he agrees, resisting the urge to laugh uncontrollably. “Totally normal middle school classmates. Absolutely.”

And that’s how Nijimura ends up drinking way too much for the second night in a row.

 

 

 

 

Nijimura spends most of Sunday split between recovering on his couch and desperately trying to finish an article for the newspaper he works for, a forecast for the upcoming basketball season. He is therefore blissfully incapable of thinking too long and hard about the whole Akashi situation. But on Monday morning while he’s on the subway on the way to the office, he gets a text:

> **From** : Akashi Seijuurou  
>  Sorry again for Saturday morning. It was an emergency.  
>  I hope you didn’t have any trouble.
> 
> Again, it was nice meeting with you.  
>  I was happy to see you are doing well.

He types out “how the _fuck_ did you get this number?” before realizing that at some point, they must have exchanged numbers during that period of time Nijimura doesn’t remember very clearly or else Akashi’s number would have popped up as unregistered. Right before he gets to his stop, he sends out a reply:

> **From** : Nijimura Shuuzou  
>  Don’t worry about it, it was fine. And yeah, it was good catching up.  
>  Emergency get solved alright?

His phone buzzes just as he settles down at his desk.

> **From** : Akashi Seijuurou  
>  Just fine.

_Alright_ , Nijimura thinks, pressing the ‘home’ button on his phone. _That’s that, then. A conversation ender if I ever did see one. Time to get on with life._

It’s not until after he’s typed up half an article on the Yomiuri Giants’ recent rookie acquisitions that he takes his cell phone out to check his notifications that he realizes Akashi had actually sent him two messages, and he’d only read the first.

> **From** : Akashi Seijuurou  
>  Actually, I was wondering if you would like to meet up for coffee sometime.

Nijimura is fairly certain that Akashi isn’t the type to make booty calls, so he thinks he can take the words for what they’re worth.

> **From** : Nijimura Shuuzou  
>  Sure. Pick a time and place, I’ll see if I’m free.
> 
> **From** : Akashi Seijuurou  
>  Weekdays are busy for me - how about next Saturday afternoon, 4PM? There’s a cafe in Toshima I’m partial to, I’ll send you the address if that works for you.

_Coffee date, okay, no problem_ , Nijimura convinces himself, and tries to not think too much about coitus as he sends a confirmation.

 

 

 

 

Thankfully, their meeting is pleasant, surprisingly smooth, and entirely devoid of any reference to the fact that the last time they met, they had incredible sex. “I’ve seen your name around a lot, actually,” Nijimura tells him, after they’ve gone through the usual greetings. “You’re some kinda rising star in the business world, aren’t you?”

Akashi smiles demurely. “I think that might be an exaggeration,” he says, before redirecting the conversation towards what their old middle school classmates have been getting up to. Naturally, there’s plenty to be said about who the Generation of Miracles have grown up to become, aside from Akashi asking about Nijimura’s yearmates. Coffee turns into a light dinner, and the conversation winds down only after the sun has gone down and a storm has started pouring down.

“It’s raining,” Nijimura comments as they step out, feeling very eloquent.

Akashi frowns. “I would’ve brought an umbrella if I’d realized we’d be here for that long,” he says.

“I haven’t got one either,” Nijimura replies. There’s a pause, and then he adds, “My place isn’t far from here, though. If you come over for a bit, I could loan you one.”

It strikes him as a very stupid proposition to make right after he’s made it, because Nijimura’s fairly certain Akashi could probably just call for a cab and make it back to wherever he needs to go with less time than it’d take for the both of them to walk to Nijimura’s place. But Akashi nods and says, “If you don’t mind.”

So Nijimura ends up inviting a half-soaked Akashi into his apartment. “Hang on, I’ll get you a towel first,” Nijimura says, leaving Akashi in his living room in the meanwhile.

When Nijimura returns, Akashi’s already pulled his sweater off; the dress shirt he’s wearing underneath is only marginally less wet. Nijimura throws the towel over Akashi’s head. “Here you go,” he says, and before he really knows what he’s doing, he’s reached over and started drying off Akashi’s hair with it. 

This time, Nijimura doesn’t even have the excuse of alcoholic inebriation to exonerate him for his decisions. Akashi turns, looking a little surprised (uncharacteristically so, a tiny voice in the back of Nijimura’s head notes, and that’s _kinda cute_ ), bringing their faces come dangerously close to each other. _Aw, fuck it_ , Nijimura thinks as he closes the gap, pressing their lips together. Akashi kisses back, sighing breathily a little, and that’s it — Nijimura is too charmed by it to not want to hear more of that.

“I’d like to state for the record I did _not_ invite you to my place for this,” Nijimura mutters when they break apart.

Akashi laughs gently and replies, “I wouldn’t have minded if you did.”

The sex is all the more mindblowing because Nijimura is actually in control of all his faculties this time. It’s not without self-satisfied pride that Nijimura pushes Akashi onto his sofa and makes him come not just once but _twice_ before they relocate to his bedroom and Akashi returns the favor with interest, doing things with his tongue that Nijimura thinks should probably be made illegal on the grounds of inhumane torture.

By the time they’ve mutually exhausted each other, it’s well past 2 AM and Nijimura’s pretty sure that he’s had more of a workout that night than he’s had in the gym for months. Akashi presses his cheek against Nijimura’s shoulder. “I think I’ll sleep well,” Akashi says vaguely.

Nijimura glances down. Akashi’s eyes are half-closed; the moonlight filtering in through his window shutters gleams brighter on his left eye than his right. _They weren’t like that before, were they?_ he thinks to himself, but he’s too tired to dwell upon it too much. “Then go to sleep,” he replies, and pulls Akashi a little closer.

 

 

 

 

Nijimura wakes up the next morning to the sound of an unfamiliar ring tone going off. “What the hell,” he says aloud before trying to roll off his bed, only to find that there’s somebody weighing him down and his thighs are sore in weird places. It takes him a moment or two to place the person: red hair, awesome sex last night, Akashi Seijuurou — _right_.

Akashi wakes up more gracefully, blinking awake before bringing the back of his hand to his mouth and yawning quietly as he pulls himself up and reaches over Nijimura to grab his cell phone off the nightstand. “Hello?” he says. Nijimura can hear the muted sound of somebody replying, but it’s too quiet for him to make anything out — still, the longer the person on the other end talks, the deeper Akashi frowns, until he finally sighs sharply and says, “Listen, I’ll call you back later. In an hour or so.”

“Work stuff?” Nijimura asks after Akashi’s hung up.

“Well, for the most part,” Akashi murmurs, rubbing at his temples.

Nijimura waits for him to elaborate for a few moments before deciding Akashi must not want to talk about it. “Then, you wanna eat breakfast here? I make these really great chocolate chip waffles,” he says, feeling kind of lame for his shitty morning after talk.

Akashi, though, smiles at the offer. “Sure, I’d like that,” he replies. “But, if you don’t mind — could I use your shower?”

“Yeah, it’s first door on the right,” Nijimura says, kicking off the covers completely to let Akashi crawl off his bed. “There are extra towels in the closet, you can use any of them.”

As Akashi washes, Nijimura pulls on an old T-shirt and athletic shorts before getting started in the kitchen. “Jesus, look at me,” he mutters aloud as he grabs a carton of strawberries from the fridge and whipped cream from the pantry. “Trying to make perfect, pretty waffles for Akashi Seijuurou. Who would’ve seen this one coming?”

 

 

 

 

Out of idle curiosity, Nijimura decides to search Akashi’s name on his paper’s online archives while at work a few days later. _It’ll be a masochistic moment of reflection on how much more successful my underclassman is than I am_ , he decides, and he is not disappointed.

On one hand: Akashi Seijuurou is the consummate businessman-philanthropist. According to an article from April, he plays professional-level shogi and donates his tournament earnings to charity. Another written in June documents how he took several failing local businesses and turned them profitable again. And a short exposé on new faces in the business world discusses how Akashi had been forced last year to inherit the Akashi Conglomerate early, upon his father’s ailing health, and that he’s overseen two straight economic periods of record-breaking growth despite his relative inexperience.

On the other: rival CEOs seem to have a habit of conveniently stepping down and replaced with those more amenable towards the Akashi Conglomerate. Scandals revolve around him constantly, but never quite seem to touch him. There are rumors of foul play and personal threats and unsavory business practice, but nothing has ever been _proven_.

His idle curiosity evolves into morbid curiosity. During his lunch break, he decides to take it a step further.

There’s always that one person in every office whom everybody else hates a little bit, but tolerates because he’s too good at what he does. Unfortunately for Nijimura, that person is the one who’s written most of the articles about Akashi, so he grudgingly pays a visit to Yamato Susumu’s desk. “Hey, so,” Nijimura says, trying to not sound too interested, “I saw you wrote a few articles on the Akashi Conglomerate. You know anything about Akashi Seijuurou? Besides what you wrote, obviously.”

Yamato turns around in his swivel chair dramatically. “Fucking Akashi Seijuurou,” he replies, sounding positively bloodthirsty. “I _wish_ I could tell you more about him, but that guy’s serious about keeping information on a lockdown.”

_Probably because people like you exist_ , Nijimura almost says, but he clamps down on his tongue before he blurts it out. “Okay, just wondering is all,” he says instead.

“What’s it to you, though, Nijimura?” Yamato asks, before Nijimura can high-tail it out of there.

“Oh, you know. Passing interest,” Nijimura answers gruffly, sending Yamato a glare and hoping he gets the message.

Yamato does not get the message. “If it’s because you know something, you have to tell me, alright? Or even somebody who knows something — I’d kill for an inside informer on Akashi,” Yamato declares.

Nijimura raises an eyebrow and says, “You can’t publish articles from jail.”

“It’s the satisfaction of _knowing_ ,” Yamato replies, jabbing a pen in Nijimura’s direction. “That guy is doing some weird, screwed-up shit and everybody knows it but nobody can prove it.”

In response, Nijimura pats him on the back roughly a few times, hard enough to jostle him a little, but still overtly friendly. “Whatever makes you happy, Yamato,” he says, and walks away before Yamato can recover enough to make a comeback.

But the thing is, Nijimura can’t reconcile his image of Akashi Seijuurou with that of a business shark no matter how hard he tries. “Okay, so he was kind of cutthroat about winning in middle school, but we all were. _I_ was cutthroat about winning too,” he mutters to himself as he stirs a pot of miso soup for dinner that night. “He’s just good at what he does, I mean… that much was obvious even when all of us were dumb thirteen-year-olds.”

Memories rise in his mind, unbidden. There were occasionally times, he remembers, when Akashi’s eyes seemed to dull and his voice suddenly sounded harsher. Or how it sometimes seemed like problem players would drop out for uncertain reasons — there was Haizaki, of course, but there were others too, people who were just a little too vocally and proactively jealous. And even after he’d quit basketball, he’d heard some vicious rumors going around during his high school years about the Generation of Miracles, the most cruel of which were usually directed at either Akashi or Aomine.

“People are just jealous because he’s got talent,” Nijimura decides aloud, and doesn’t notice how violently he’s been stirring his soup until there’s a thin layer of miso drying over his stovetop.

 

 

 

 

Nijimura figures that, as Akashi was the one to reach out first, it’s only considerate for him to set up their next meeting. “I’m sorry — as much as I’d like to, I can’t. My schedule is packed for the next few weeks,” Akashi says when Nijimura calls him a week or so after their coffee date, sounding distracted. “Would it alright if I take a rain check? I’ll let you know when I’m available again.”

So meeting up with Akashi becomes a mostly one-sided initiation: Akashi texts him whenever he’s free, and Nijimura responds. Sometimes Akashi drops off the wire for long periods of time before resurfacing without warning, but it’s still the most regular relationship Nijimura’s managed to keep up since his last girlfriend from his college days. Nijimura doesn’t make a big deal of it, because he’s sure Akashi has far more obligations than he does. Besides, Akashi himself is good company whenever he’s free — he makes conversation easily, has excellent taste in restaurants, is refreshingly polite, and could probably bring a small country down to its knees with his mouth alone. Sex doesn’t always happen, but sometimes it does, and Nijimura considers that a major qualitative increase in his standard of living.

So mostly, Nijimura just goes on living as he did before, with the occasional bonus of strings-free sex on the side. Akashi’s name sticks out at him more in the news, and Nijimura can’t tell if it’s because Akashi’s showing up more, or if it’s because Nijimura’s paying more attention to it. It occurs to him that it’s probably a little weird for him to be reading about the business life of somebody he’s having intercourse with.

“Hey, you know what kind of work I do, right?” Nijimura asks him once, when he’s lying in Akashi’s bed while recovering from a whirlwind round of marathon sex. He decides to blame the coitus on the fact that he’s feeling looser-lipped than usual.

Akashi turns to lie on his stomach, resting his chin on his elbows. “You work for a well-reputed if somewhat overshadowed daily newspaper. The sports section.”

Nijimura rubs the side of his neck awkwardly, sighing sharply. “Basically what I want to say is that I’m not gonna compromise anything we say in private conversations, so you don’t have to worry about that,” he says.

“I haven’t been worried,” Akashi replies, smiling slightly. “I didn’t think you would be the type to do something like that. And besides —” (and here, Nijimura swears he can feel the temperature drop) “— you wouldn’t get anything out of it.”

Before Nijimura can think too much about what Akashi’s implying with that, Akashi leans over and kisses him, sliding his hand across Nijimura’s chest. “I’m not physically capable of going for another round,” Nijimura mutters when they break apart.

“Shall I prove you wrong?” Akashi asks.

Naturally, Akashi does.

 

 

 

 

A few months after bumping into Akashi for the first time, Nijimura accidentally reunites with another middle school teammate while spectating a baseball practice, waiting to get an interview with some of the players. “Nijimura-san,” Midorima says, bowing his head respectfully. He looks exactly the same, Nijimura thinks, except even _more_ annoyingly tall.

“Midorima,” he replies. “Can’t say I ever expected to see you in a place like this. What brings you here?”

“As it happens, one of the players on this team came under my care at the hospital I work at recently. I agreed to come today to confer with their resident sports physician,” Midorima answers. There’s a pause before he sighs and adjusts his glasses; Nijimura gets the distinct impression that Midorima is trying to buy time before dropping some kind of conversational bombshell. “Actually, I’m glad I ran into you.”

Midorima looks like he wants to beat around the bush as long as possible, so Nijimura decides to cut straight through that: “Alright, then, what’s on your mind?” he asks.

“I heard from Akashi that you two have been seeing each other often as of late,” Midorima says. “I’m aware that this is somewhat rude, but… what do you think of Akashi’s behavior?”

Nijimura blinks a few times. “I mean, he’s not that much different from when we were in middle school, I guess,” he replies, mildly bewildered. “He’s easy to talk to and works hard.”

“You must have heard some of the rumors about him, though, haven’t you? What do you make of those, Nijimura-san?” Midorima asks.

“I’m a journalist now,” Nijimura answers. “If there’s one thing that’s it’s taught me, it’s not to believe in anything without having some proof behind it or you might get screwed over further down the line. Like all the rumors that were going around when you guys were playing for Teikou, and then high school — it’s all a bunch of stuff made up for cheap gossip. I mean, like… there was the one about Akashi stabbing his own eyes out, right? Seriously, who would ever believe something like that.”

Midorima is fumbling with his glasses so much that Nijimura’s torn between feeling concerned that Midorima might break them and suppressing a questionably violent desire to take them from him just to make him stop. “Not all of those rumors were completely made up,” Midorima finally says, stiffly. Nijimura can tell what he actually means: _The one about Akashi stabbing his eyes out is based in truth._

Nijimura’s jaw slackens slightly. “Nobody actually goes that far for high school level basketball,” he insists.

“Yes, well,” Midorima replies. It’s amazing, Nijimura thinks, the extent to which Midorima’s expression is an open book. There’s a hint of ‘ _I wonder about that’_ in the way he raises his eyebrows mixed together with ‘ _you probably don’t know Akashi as well as you think you do’_ ’ as he purses his lips. Midorima coughs a few times, and it sounds incredibly forced. “At any rate, his mood seems to have improved over the last few weeks. I’m inclined to believe that your influence may have something to do with it.”

There is really no polite way to say, ‘yeah, that’d probably be on account of all the fucking,’ so Nijimura decides against it. “Who knows? Akashi’s hard to read,” he says instead.

“I have more or less given up on it,” Midorima agrees.

The conversation comes to an abrupt end when the practice finishes, and Nijimura has to admit he’s relieved.

 

 

 

 

The next time he meets with Akashi, it’s at a Lebanese restaurant. Nijimura spends the whole dinner trying not to think about eyeballs as he rolls olives around his plate and whether Akashi’s left eye was always a little different than his right or if that’s another thing that apparently changed in his absence — he fails miserably. “Is there something on your mind?” Akashi asks as they wait for the waiter to come back with their checks.

“Work’s busy, that’s all,” Nijimura answers. It’s not entirely a lie, because it’s been a season ripe for sports stories and Yamato has (to his irritation) apparently taken him on as a confidante ever since the time he asked Yamato about Akashi.

“Mine too, unfortunately,” Akashi replies. “We’re working on making an acquisition, but it’s not going as smoothly as I would like.”

Nijimura knows all about it, thanks to Yamato bothering him constantly. “Yeah, I think my paper did an article about it,” he says. “It’s the company owned by… Wakahisa somebody, right? They produce something cellphone related, I think.”

“Wakahisa Isamu-san,” Akashi corrects gently. “I’m not at liberty to discuss it at this point, but… if I fall out of touch for a while, it’d be safe to assume it’s because of that.”

“He must be pretty damn stubborn if he’s giving you that much trouble,” Nijimura comments.

Akashi smiles, but the way his lips curl up seems more cruel than anything else — it’s somewhat unsettling. “If Wakahisa-san were as good a businessman as he is stubborn, then perhaps he’d have a leg to stand on,” he says.

“Well, you’ll wear him down eventually,” Nijimura replies, not sure what else to say.

Sex does not follow after dinner, but for probably the first time in his life, Nijimura feels like he’s happier without it.

 

 

 

 

As predicted, Akashi doesn’t contact him for several weeks following that. At first, Nijimura doesn’t make much of it, because a game-rigging scandal is discovered and Nijimura spends all his time digging up new information about it — by the time it begins to blow over, he’s published quite a few well-received articles on the scandal and his boss rewards him with the promise of a raise and a few extra vacation days. Nijimura, though, doesn’t have anywhere he particularly wants to go, so he decides to cash them in later.

Only after that does his workload cool off enough that he begins to pay attention to the rest of his life and skim the parts of the paper that he didn’t participate in writing. Yamato is still churning out the articles on Akashi’s attempt to consolidate Wakahisa’s company, Nijimura notes, and spends a lunch break mentally debating whether or not he wants to ask Yamato for a brief update on the situation.

He decides against it, which ends up being a very shrewd decision, because Akashi calls him not long after he leaves from work. “Nijimura-san, are you free later tonight? Can you come over to my place?” Akashi asks.

“Sure,” Nijimura replies, and shows up just past eight-thirty.

Over time, Nijimura’s come to realize that Akashi looks more or less tired in a pattern, but he always seems like he could use a nap. When Akashi opens the door for him, Nijimura can see that Akashi’s reached a low point in the cycle. “I think you need a cup of coffee,” Nijimura says.

“How about black tea instead?” Akashi offers. Nijimura nods, so Akashi starts an electric kettle going, and they make small talk while Akashi fixes them both mugs of tea: a single sugar and a squeeze of lemon for Akashi’s, creamer and two sugars for Nijimura. When they’re both ready, they sit at the low table in Akashi’s living room and drink quietly for a while.

“I heard you’re having trouble with that acquisition,” Nijimura comments off-handedly, breaking the silence.

Akashi smiles, but the expression doesn’t even begin to match the cold sheen in his eyes. “Yes, your paper has been covering the whole thing quite eagerly, hasn’t he?” Akashi says.

Nijimura shrugs. “I guess so,” he replies, not willing to explain his co-worker’s apparent obsession with investigating Akashi.

“But I think Wakahisa-san will see things for the way they are sooner rather than later,” Akashi says contemplatively, placing his cup down so it makes a _clink_ against the table.

“You _think_ ,” Nijimura echoes dryly, because Akashi rarely expresses opinions that do not later become fact.

Akashi glances up at him, and Nijimura can’t help but notice the dark circles underneath his eyes. _Don’t baby him,_ Nijimura thinks to himself. _Akashi Seijuurou can take care of himself. You’re not his captain, he’s not your responsibility. It’d just be looking down on him._ “I am going to leave on a business trip the day after tomorrow,” Akashi says vaguely. “I’ve heard the air in Beijing has improved as of late and there are loose ends to be tied up there. Perhaps Wakahisa-san will come around by the time I return.”

There are a lot of things Nijimura wants to say, but instead he kisses Akashi over the table and pulls him to the bedroom. He wants to believe that Akashi unravels underneath his fingers, he wants to think that this helps Akashi somehow — he watches Akashi shudder and gasp and throw his neck back when Nijimura slides his finger into Akashi. “Is it good for you?” he murmurs into Akashi’s ear as he adds another finger.

“Yes,” Akashi replies, voice strained and breathless. He curls his arms around Nijimura’s shoulders, pulling him in close.

The answer doesn’t make Nijimura feel any better: he knows he’s just gratifying himself.

 

 

 

 

Wakahisa Isamu is found dead in his apartment a week later. The cause of death is suicide.

At work, Yamato gloats to anybody who will listen to him. “This is a great opportunity,” Yamato says gleefully. Nijimura doesn’t know why Yamato’s come all the way to his desk, but he can only assume that Yamato’s annoyed everybody in his department and has been forced to move onto Nijimura’s section of the office.

“Don’t look so damn cheerful that somebody’s dead,” Nijimura replies, making a point of continuing to stare at his laptop screen.

“But look, no matter how you cut it, Akashi’s reputation is going down the drain for this,” Yamato tells him. “He’s _clearly_ involved. You know about it too, don’t you? We were just talking about it the other day, about how Akashi’s been pressuring him and now — the tree didn’t bend, it broke. Anyway, I’ve been trying to track down everybody who was in the apartment when it happened... I mean, the ideal situation would be if Akashi had actually talked or met with him the night of, but —”

“Don’t bother looking in that direction, he wasn’t even in the country last night,” Nijimura says. His brain catches up a minute or two later as the implication of what he’s blurted out settles in: he isn’t supposed to know that.

Yamato snaps his head up and towards Nijimura so fast it’s almost comical. “How’d you know that?” he asks.

“I,” Nijimura answers slowly, trying to force a tone of calmness into his voice, “probably read it in the Asahi Shimbun this morning.”

A few moments pass. Yamato gives him a stare-down, which normally wouldn’t make him nervous, except that this time Nijimura can’t tell what _kind_ of stare-down it is. “Well, that doesn’t mean that Akashi isn’t involved somehow,” Yamato finally says. “I’ll check Wakahisa’s phone records.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Nijimura replies, making a motion as if to wave him away. “Then go do your actual work instead of bothering me. I’ve gotta write articles too, you know.”

After he’s shooed Yamato away, he sinks into his seat and sighs deeply and contemplates: _what the hell did I get myself into?_

 

 

 

 

Yamato publishes a sensationalist exposé on Akashi’s involvement in Wakahisa Isamu’s death before the week is out. That Saturday, Nijimura goes out for drinks with some of his college classmates. As the rest of the group are distracted choosing what snacks to split, Nijimura asks, “Hey, Satou. Remember that one time I told you about the middle school underclassman I slept with?”

“Sure, vaguely,” Satou replies.

“I told you that we were just normal classmates,” Nijimura says. “That was an incredible lie.”

Satou pats him on the back sympathetically and orders him a beer.

 

 

 

 

Akashi turns up on his doorstep a few days later, the lines underneath his eyes so deeply pronounced that he looks like a dead man walking. “Nijimura-san,” he says. “Could I come in? If you’re not busy.”

“I’ve got time,” Nijimura replies, trying not to stare too hard as he steps aside. “When’d you get back?”

“I’ve been back in Japan for almost a week now,” Akashi says, sitting down at the dinner table. Nijimura tallies it in his head — that’d be within a few days of Wakahisa’s death. “The trip got cut short for extenuating circumstances. I’m sure you have some idea of what I’m talking about.”

“Yeah, I kinda pay attention to the news,” Nijimura replies wryly.

Akashi doesn’t smile. “I don’t know who else to talk to about this,” he says slowly. “I need somebody not — _involved_ in the matter directly.”

“I’m all ears,” Nijimura says, taking a seat across from Akashi.

Akashi stares at him, but Nijimura meets his gaze evenly. There are rings around Akashi’s eyes, sunken in so far that Nijimura can’t imagine he’s gotten enough sleep for a very, very long time now. “Nijimura-san, let me make one thing clear. It isn’t my fault that Wakahisa Isamu died,” Akashi replies. “And to make the semantics clear, I’m saying that it wasn’t through my influence, direct or indirect, that he made the decision he did. No matter what anybody else might say, I have never done anything illegal. I don’t extort, I don’t bribe, and I don’t blackmail, and I consider it insulting people believe I’d have to resort to such low measures to achieve success. That Wakahisa-san chose to take his own life is not blood on my hands. I’m not responsible for this situation.”

Nijimura raises an eyebrow. “Well, I don’t think you are, either, but it kinda seems like you _feel_ responsible for the situation. That’s not necessarily the same thing.”

For a few moments, Nijimura thinks Akashi might lash out at him: there’s this look in his eyes, some fight or flight instinct that’s been hardwired into humanity so strongly that even Akashi’s not above it — but Akashi would never choose to run when he can strike back instead. Just when Nijimura begins to think that he’s dug himself a hole he might not be able to climb out of, Akashi tilts his head and says, “You might be right about that.”

Akashi Seijuurou, recently named in the Yomiuri Shimbun’s “Top Ten Most Influential People In Japan”, looks like he’s on the verge of physically collapsing in Nijimura’s apartment, and to Nijimura he seems thirteen again. It’s something in his expression, Nijimura thinks — he can’t help but remember back to the very first middle school tournament that the Generation of Miracles had played in, back when they still had to struggle to reach victory. Maybe Akashi had been tired back then, too, maybe he’d already been carrying far too much on his back for somebody barely out of his childhood. But Nijimura was young then too, and he hadn’t seen it back then: he’d only seen the way that Akashi always stood up back straight and shoulders thrown back.

“When we were in middle school,” Nijimura says slowly. “When I asked that you be made captain. Did I do a bad thing to you?”

Akashi gives him a rather severe look. Nijimura supposes most people are probably intimidated when Akashi Seijuurou glares at them, but Nijimura knew him when he was the shortest kid in the first string by more than a few centimeters — in other words, Nijimura finds it very difficult to be scared of him. “I have never thought about it being a good or bad thing. It seems pointless to consider,” Akashi replies. “You did what was necessary. That’s all there is to it.”

That he was expecting an answer like that doesn’t make it easier for Nijimura to accept it. He inhales deeply, then reaches over to flick Akashi on the forehead. “First things first,” Nijimura says as Akashi winces. “You’re going to bed right now for a solid night of sleep, no arguments.”

“I was going to go back to my office,” Akashi begins to say, but Nijimura pushes Akashi into his bedroom and forces a set of spare sleeping clothes on him. He does not tuck Akashi in and kiss him goodnight, but he does confiscate Akashi’s cell phone and turn it off before he closes the door behind him with a promise not to open it for another ten hours.

_This is more personal responsibility over another human being than I feel comfortable having_ , Nijimura thinks to himself, but he supposes it’s a start.

 

 

 

(Not long afterwards, Nijimura wakes up his laptop and opens up a search: “What do you do if you happen to meet up with a middle school underclassman whose mental stability you may have accidentally contributed to screwing up, but you didn’t realize that until years later? Also you’re occasionally sleeping with said underclassman. Maybe more than just occasionally.”

He stares at the screen for a few moments, sighs, and deletes everything without pressing enter. Google has helped him solve many basic problems in his life, but he’s fairly certain it can’t figure this one out.)

 

 

 

 

Ten hours later, Nijimura rolls off his living room couch, stretches his limbs, and goes to check on Akashi. He’s still passed out on the bed, so Nijimura quietly cooks breakfast, feeling even more awkward than that first time he woke up in Akashi’s bed. Akashi surfaces just before he’s finished making tamagoyaki rolls to eat with the rice he’s reheated — Akashi’s complexion is much improved, though the skin around his eyes is still puffy. He quietly sits at the kitchen counter, looking rather small in Nijimura’s clothes. “Sleep well?” Nijimura asks.

“Better than usual,” Akashi answers. “Do you need help?”

“Just sit tight,” Nijimura replies. The tamagoyaki falls apart a little when he cuts it, but he manages not to make a complete mess of it as he flips the pieces onto plates.

They eat quietly; Akashi barely makes it through half of his bowl of rice before he sets it down. “I’ve thought about how I plan to handle this situation,” he says.

Nijimura lowers his bowl and glances over. “Well, that’s good,” he replies. “You were supposed to be sleeping, though.”

“It took a while to fall asleep,” Akashi admits, so Nijimura supposes he can let it slide.

“Fine. Then what’s your plan?” he asks.

Akashi stares into his bowl contemplatively. “Well, you’ll see soon enough,” he answers vaguely. “I should get going soon. There is a lot that needs to be done.”

As much as he wants to press the point, Nijimura can take a hint.

 

 

 

 

But as it turns out, Nijimura soon finds he has his own problems to deal with. Three days later, Yamato approaches his desk, staring at him with open hostility. “So,” Yamato says.

Nijimura stares back bleakly. “ _So,_ ” he echoes. He doesn’t anticipate this is going to be a pleasant meeting.

“I was looking up old articles on Akashi Seijuurou, and look at what I dug up,” Yamato tells him before handing him a print-out. Nijimura takes it and immediately knows he’s fucked — the headline: _Teikou Takes Middle School Basketball Tournament_. There’s a picture of him on it, too, looking supremely annoyed at all the reporters around him. If Nijimura remembers correctly, it would’ve been one of the first articles on the Generation of Miracles.

“Okay, well, I can’t imagine this has much to do with whatever it is you’re trying to accuse Akashi of doing,” Nijimura says, trying not to wince at how terrible his innocent act is.

“That’s _you_ in the photo,” Yamato replies accusingly. “You and Akashi were on the same team in middle school. It even says you were the captain that year.”

“The basketball team was fucking gigantic, Yamato, I can’t be expected to remember every single person I played with,” Nijimura snaps back.

Yamato slams another piece of paper down with far more force than necessary. This one is an article from the next year. Yamato says, “Akashi took over as captain the next year, so I find it really difficult to believe you didn’t remember who he is.”

There’s always that one person in every office whom everybody else hates a little bit, but tolerates because he’s too good at what he does, and Nijimura kind of wants to strangle that person right now. “Sure, wow, you got me. I knew Akashi fifteen years ago when we were _middle schoolers_ ,” Nijimura replies. “So what?”

“Yeah, but the point is that you two still are in contact, aren’t you?” Yamato asks. “I’ve been checking sources, and I noticed that there weren’t any articles around the time of Wakahisa’s death that claimed Akashi was away at the time. In fact, I even phoned his secretary, and she said his schedule is private, only on a need-to-know basis.”

Nijimura could deny it or he could admit it — he can’t even plead the fifth, because that’s the same thing as admitting it. At any rate, there’s one thing for certain: Akashi is proving to be the source of _a lot_ of unexpected trouble for him. “Alright, I’ll just say this much. Akashi and I do know each other, but that’s a personal relationship, so if you want me to abuse that, then you can go fuck yourself,” Nijimura says. “Besides, you don’t need me to drag him through the dirt, do you? You’ve been writing articles about him practically daily.”

“See, that’s the thing I don’t get,” Yamato replies. “I don’t get why all there are all these people around him who _insist_ on protecting him when Akashi’s actually a piece of shit human being —”

“Yeah, well, you still haven’t proved anything yet, have you?” Nijimura cuts in. “Now can you leave me alone? Unlike some people, I actually prefer to spend my time at the office doing work.”

Yamato levels him another glare, but Nijimura is far more well-practiced at giving people the stare-down — after a few seconds, Yamato turns and walks away.

 

 

 

 

Just as Nijimura gets home from work, he gets a call from Akashi. “Good timing, I have something I should tell you,” Nijimura begins to say.

“Did Yamato-san approach you today?” Akashi asks.

There’s a pause before Nijimura replies, “Okay, so. How’d you know that?”

“I sent him an article early this morning,” Akashi answers. “A quote-unquote _anonymous tip_. I don’t think he will have traced it back to me — besides, it’s likely that he would have discovered it anyway.”

Even in middle school, Nijimura generally found it easier to defer to Akashi’s superior ability to set up intricate schemes. That did not make _accepting_ those schemes any less annoying to him, nor does it now. “Do you think you could tell me about plans like this beforehand?” he asks.

“I’d like to request that you mediate a conversation between Yamato-san and myself,” Akashi says. “If that’s fine with you, I’ll contact him directly and let him pick a time and a place.”

“Akashi, are you even listening to me? I said that —”

“I apologize,” Akashi interrupts, “and I understand if that means that you don’t want to do what I’ve asked. But I would appreciate it very much if you could.”

Nijimura kind of wants to throw his cellphone across the room, but he resists, because his warranty just ran out a few weeks ago. “I’ll do it,” he says slowly.

“Thank you,” Akashi replies. There’s a pause, and Nijimura thinks that he can hear the faint sound of a sigh. “And I’m sorry for dragging you into this, Nijimura-san.”

 

 

 

 

The meeting takes place on an early Thursday afternoon in a rented hotel meeting room. It’s a discreet location, and Nijimura isn’t sure whether he’s glad for it or not. On one hand, if things get bad, at least nobody else will be around to witness it. On the other hand, if physical assault happens, Nijimura is not entirely sure he can retrain the two of them by himself. He gets why he’s the one mediating — he’s the only common link between both parties — but that doesn’t exactly make him feel excited for the task at hand.

When he arrives, Akashi is already there waiting. “Akashi,” he greets, but Akashi doesn’t reply except to tilt his head in Nijimura’s direction ever so slightly. There’s something different about the atmosphere around him, Nijimura realizes: it’s the look in his eyes, maybe, or the way his shoulders are pushed back and his head held high. Nijimura frowns. “Hey, Akashi, are you feeling alright?” he asks.

“I’m fine,” Akashi says, and there’s something different in his tone, too, but Nijimura’s heard it before — it’s the voice Akashi uses when he’s going in for the kill.

They sit quietly until Yamato shows up a few minutes later; Akashi’s impassive expression melts away as Yamato comes through the door. “Susumu, thank you for agreeing to meet with me,” Akashi says, smiling as he offers a hand.

Yamato ignores it. “You’re being too familiar,” he replies.

Akashi tilts his head up. Yamato’s built lanky, tall in a gawky sort of way, and he has a bit of height on Akashi, but Nijimura still feels like it’s Akashi looking down in Yamato. “If you want me to speak to you respectfully, then perhaps you should try earning my respect,” Akashi says, in a tone so polite that it feels uncomfortably dissonant with his words. “Have a seat, please.”

Neither of them seem like they want to start the conversation, so Nijimura clears his throat. “Alright, well. Akashi, you’re the one who wanted this meeting, so I guess you should start off,” he says.

“I have to admit that I’m curious why Suzumu is so bent on slandering me,” Akashi replies.

Yamato scoffs. “What slander?”

“Just tell him why you’re so obsessed with writing about him, Yamato,” Nijimura says.

“Because whatever it is he’s doing should be exposed,” Yamato answers, glowering at Nijimura a little.

“Is that so?” Akashi asks. “I was under the impression it was for a more selfish reason than that.”

“You’re wrong,” Yamato answers immediately, but even Nijimura can hear a nervous note in his voice.

“Well, as it turns out, I did some research into you. It seems that Yamato Susumu’s family was the former owners of a mid-sized publishing company,” Akashi says. “I started my involvement in the Akashi Conglomerate while I was still attending university, and one of my early investments was in a rival company. The company that Susumu’s family owned, unfortunately, went bankrupt about half a year later — I believe Susumu would have been in his last year of university at that point, and judging from his transcript, he had intended to become an editor there prior to its closing.”

Akashi’s laid out the facts so neatly that Nijimura can draw the dots for himself. “You’re accusing him of holding a grudge, then,” Nijimura says slowly.

“Holding a grudge isn’t worth calling somebody out for, Shuuzou,” Akashi replies coolly. Nijimura raises an eyebrow at that; Akashi ignores him in favor of turning to Yamato. “The reason that I asked Suzumu to meet with me is that I thought it would be courteous to inform him beforehand that he should consider searching for a new job.”

Yamato laughs, a bit tremulously. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks.

“You see, the paper that you write for is owned by a larger company, and I happened to meet with the person who owns that company recently,” Akashi says. “Allow me to make a long story short and simply state that in ten days, I’ll own your newspaper.”

Nijimura stares between the two of them and can’t help but see a carnivore cornering its prey. Yamato visibly swallows. “You can’t just fire somebody for no good reason, that’s what workers’ unions are for,” Yamato mutters.

“I’m not going to have you fired, Suzumu. You can stay as long as you like. But I wouldn’t count on getting any articles published,” Akashi replies coolly. “That is, if your pride can even handle being on _my_ payroll. That’s why I’m suggesting you look into a career change now, while you still have some time before the handover.”

Yamato’s fisted his hands, but that doesn’t his fingers from shaking. “You can do that, but you can’t make me take back what I’ve already published, you know,” he says, keeping up a remarkable amount of bravado despite the uncertainty in his tone.

“You’re just one journalist in a sea of others, without any fame or reputation. People will forget about you before long. Especially because your so-called _exposé_ on me is wrong,” Akashi tells him, sliding an unlabeled folder across the table to Yamato. “By the way… I heard you couldn’t get your hands on the phone records for the night Wakahisa Isamu died, so I took the liberty of asking around myself. I don’t think you’ll like what it says.”

Yamato flips open the folder and reads through its contents. Nijimura can’t entirely be sure, because Yamato seems to have lost the ability to form coherent words, but he’s pretty sure that Yamato _really_ does not like what it says. Quietly, Yamato sets the folder down. “You win, Akashi,” he says, when he regains the ability to string syllables together.

Akashi’s smile widens. “My favorite words,” he replies softly.

 

 

 

 

Afterwards, Nijimura ends up in Akashi’s apartment, where they sit in the living room in absolute silence for at least five minutes before Nijimura says, “So. _Shuuzou_.”

Akashi doesn’t look that ashamed when he admits, “I normally call people by their given names. It slipped out.”

“Well, you don’t normally call me by mine,” Nijimura points out.

“I thought you might prefer it,” Akashi says, staring vaguely over Nijimura’s shoulder, “if I generally behaved more as if I did when we were still in middle school.”

Nijimura leans over and flicks him on the forehead with full force; Akashi winces. “You just be you, alright? Whatever that is,” Nijimura replies gruffly. “Don’t put on some act for me. I mean, I already know you —” There’s a pause as he thinks about how to describe it, when Akashi’s whole aura seems to harden and the temperature in the room feels like it’s spontaneously dropped. Nijimura decides it’s better not to elaborate. “— anyway, you’re fine, alright?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say it was precisely an _act_ either,” Akashi murmurs, still rubbing at where Nijimura had hit him.

In lieu of thinking too much about what that implies, Nijimura ruffles Akashi’s hair instead. “You’re fine the way you are,” he repeats.

Often, when Nijimura watches Akashi smile, he gets the distinct feeling that the expression doesn’t meet how Akashi actually feels. This time, though, he watches Akashi’s eyebrows fold as his eyes close, looking almost just as surprised as he does happy: this smile must be genuine.

 

 

 

 

Things, of course, go on. Akashi manages to settle his lack of involvement with Wakahisa Isamu when the police department officially releases the phone record, and the press drops the issue soon afterwards. Akashi descends into work for a while (“Predictably, buying a company in a sector I’m not familiar with means the transition period is rockier than I’d like it to be,” Akashi had explained, before falling out of contact), and Nijimura doesn’t even have time to think about it because Akashi apparently wants the newspaper’s entire office system restructured. The upshot of all of this is that Nijimura no longer has any annoying coworkers bothering him because Yamato quits during the overhaul; the downside is that his workplace is turned into a minor disaster zone as they attempt to adjust.

When Akashi finally calls him weeks later, it comes out of the blue — Nijimura picks up on reflex, without checking his caller ID, and he has to take a moment to widen his eyes in surprise when he hears Akashi’s voice: “Nijimura-san, how are you? It’s been a while since we last spoke, I apologize.”

“Nah, it’s fine. And I’m fine, too, for that matter,” he replies.

“I’m calling on a work matter,” Akashi explains. “I was looking through employee records, and —”

Nijimura cuts in to say, “Aren’t you a CEO or something important like that? Don’t you have somebody you could hire to do that for you?”

“— and it seems that you have vacation days saved up,” Akashi continues, ignoring him. “To prevent hoarding up days and taking long periods of time off, we decided it would be more efficient to have people use them within a four month period from when they were initially issued, which means that yours are about to expire soon.”

“I don’t think I like the way you’re running this office, Akashi,” Nijimura informs him wryly.

Akashi laughs, and it takes him off-guard for a moment, so that the next thing Akashi says comes in completely unexpected. “I was thinking about taking a week off myself, actually. So, I was wondering… would you like to go somewhere with me?” he asks.

There’s a pause before Nijimura scoffs. _This has to be the most roundabout way to say ‘thanks for putting up with all my bullshit’ there ever was_ , he thinks, but he says, “Okay. Yeah, I’d like that.”

“Then, can I come over sometime soon? To work out the details,” Akashi replies.

Nijimura scoffs, but he smiles despite himself. “I’ve got nothing else to give you, but my door’s open to you whenever you want it to be, Akashi,” he says.

“Thank you,” Akashi says quietly, and Nijimura realizes he shouldn’t have worried: Akashi Seijuurou came out just fine after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the Basketball Poet's Society OTP Battle. This one's for you, Team NijiAka, we fought the good fight.


End file.
